It's been said that depression is anger turned inward. And it's been argued that this isn't true. I think that in some cases those who are depressed are repressing a ton of anger meant for other people. Sometimes that anger comes out by going in. That is, they turn unbearable negative feelings on themselves. We see things like self-harm, which is a physically obvious manifestation of all this.
Recently, in my own life, I've been accepting some anger that I have. Mostly it is a long-repressed anger. There's this really great book called, "The Drama of the Gifted Child," by Alice Miller. This brilliant psychologist and champion of children's rights describes the process whereby sensitive children pick up on their parents' wishes for them and make them paramount even when it means stiffling their true selves. ESPECIALLY when it means stiffling their true selves. You see, a child is utterly dependent on their parent figure(s) for their survival. Not just their bottom of the pile Malovian needs, but their emotional survival as well. If the parents aren't ok (whatever ok means) then the child will not be taken care of. They will cease to exist. It's what classic psychodynamicists refer to as "fear of anihilation." I won't take too much time to explain how we all develop defence mechanisms, that's been written about extensively and you can find the info easily... but I will just put it out there that we've all got them. For some of us, we repress guilt. Others, it's anger.
Me, it's anger.
I've known intellectually that it's anger for a long time. But there is a huge difference between acknowledging your anger and expressing it. I have to admit, I know exactly who I am mad at and for what. But I've got no idea what an appropriate or healthy expression of my anger would be. I know I don't want it to be my heart stopping suddenly anytime in the next 6 minutes to 60 years...
My Mother-in-Law died a couple of days ago. We've been waiting for her death for a few months now so the grieving has been this slow, uphill process. It's also come at the same time that my own parents have been descending into poor health and addiction. The contrast between my parents and my husband's parents is astonishing. Mr. and Mrs. Husband never fell out of love, laughed often, supported each other, and had a great push and pull between his highjinks and her helmmastering. Mr. and Mrs. Psyche's-Family-of-Origin never were in love to begin with, fought often, undermined each other, and at times escalated push and pull to yell and hit. When we got married, we thought our mothers would hate each other. His mom is a tiny, health-conscious, high self esteem, competent reader. My mom is an obese, judgemental, low self-esteem, meddler. Now I know I'm biased, I spent the first 19 years of my life repressing a ton of anger towards her. But when I sit here now, grieving the death of my MIL, I realize that I wouldn't be this sad if my own mother had died. The unfairness of it all is striking. My mother has never taken care of her body or soul whereas Mrs. Husband has always been the picture of moderation. His mom always saw the glass as half full. Mine always sees it as more than half empty, with spots on from the dishwasher, and never mind because it's Coke and you know I like Pepsi, so thanks a lot Christmas is ruined because you bought the wrong pop. Anyway, we were very surprised to find out two years into our marriage that they'd been having coffee once a week since we announced the engagement.
Why did she have to die when she brought so much joy, kindness, hope, and care to every single person whose life she ever touched? And my mom, who has been miserable, martyring, fear-monger of an emotional abuser gets to live? To my mom, life is suffering and misery and she's only digger her hole of problems bigger every time she pulls the slot-machine arm. To his mom, life was a delight, and the future filled with the assurance of more happiness to come.
With every "why" the anger boils a little higher. And I'm afaid that it will overflow. Again, I've never seemed to find the way to release my anger so that I actually feel better, not without destroying something (I broke a plate once or twice and you all know about the eating disorder). I am afraid that when I have to talk to my mother at the funeral that I might snap and lose it on her. That I might deliver a verbose flurry followed by a flurry of knuckles in no way suitable for a funeral home environment. That I will be embarassed by how my own issues of anger would overshadow the grief of my own husband, who is much closer to this loss, and that THAT will put a wedge between us.
I don't actually want any harm to come to her. I just want her to go away. I want all the memories to go away. I want to be allowed to find solace in my chosen famlily and not be haunted by all the abuse. I also want desperately not to fall back into my childhood pattern of reaction-formation. I can survive now without my parents being okay. Even though no one in my own family will understand it. I want out and I want this anger to fade.
I am very sad that I won't get to continue this relationship. My MIL and I adored each other. I hinted at, but never told her expressly about what I went though with my own mom, but I think she could tell. I wonder if her friendship with my mom was partly to try to understand this. She was always far to respectful to ever pry. But there are so many things I wish I could have shared with her. She made me feel loved and understood. She accepted me the way I am. Never tried to change me.
With her, I always felt "good enough." God, I felt so much more than that. I felt like a gift. I hope she felt the same way. I suspect that she did.
Thank you my wonderful Mother-in-Law, for giving me a second chance at the mother-daughter relationship. I'm glad to have been your only "closest thing to a daughter." I will miss you and remember you, and keep you with us always. And I'll take care of your little boy, I promise.
Love Psyche.
November, 1999 (Oh, What A Night)
5 years ago
